And Then We Danced

Soft, Piercing, and Vulnerable

After a few more seconds of my mom struggling with the keys, she finally found the one to the front door and shoved it into the lock, turned it an a half circle, and pushed the door open, taking the keys out as she did so.

I followed her inside, closing the door with my foot, and slumped down on the couch, throwing my back pack to the floor.

Never in my entire life has it ever felt better to be home, even if it wasn't exactly the most familiar place in the whole world yet.

My mom walked into the kitchen, and I could hear the faucet squeak on, followed by the faint sound of running water. "The movers unloaded everything before I got home", she called from the kitchen. "All of your stuff is in your room, and I haven't touched any if it, I promise", she said, walking back into the living room with her hands up, a glass of water in each one.

I smiled. "Mom, I honestly don't care if you touch it. All I have is some books, some clothes, and a bed. As long as you don't break any of it, we'll still be on speaking terms", I said in a serious, matter of fact tone.

She laughed and sat down on the couch next to me, offering me a glass of water, which I gladly accepted with a quiet thank you. "So how did it go today?", she asked, bringing her knees to her chest. "And dont say 'good'. I know it wasn't just 'good', its never that simple. So spill", she pestered me, using a somewhat demanding tone.

Before answering, I brought the glass of water to my lips and gulped down half the liquid, trying to satisfy my dry throat that was already starting to form. "Um, could we maybe talk about this tonight?", I hopefully asked, setting the cup down on the coffee table in front of me. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, I just think it would be better if we're able to sleep on what comes out of my mouth, instead of stressing over it the rest of the day."

My mom furrowed her eyebrows in suspicion, but whether it be because she agreed on the stress factor, or just her motherly instincts, she hesitantly obliged by nodding her head.

"Ok, fine", she huffed. "But only because we have to move and decorate all of the furniture 'together', and thats gonna be stressful enough as it is", she said, putting as much emphasis as possible on the word 'together'.

I couldn't help but smile at that, and only because it's true. Even though we both get along on a daily basis, we can't work together to save each others lives. Call it what you will, but I call it stubbornness. My mom is one of the most stubborn people I've ever known, and well, the apple doesn't fall to far from the tree.

"Looks like you already started the living room without me", I said, gesturing to the metal framed, glass topped coffee table in front of me. "How'd you move this by yourself, it must weigh, like, thirty pounds!", I sarcastically exclaimed, earning a playful flick on the forehead in return.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did move it myself", my mom said, rolling her eyes. "And for your information, it weighs about forty pounds", she corrected me, sticking her chin out.

I threw my hands up in surrender. "Well, my bad then", I apologized. "So what room should we start on first?", I asked, lowering my arms.

My mom stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek, creating a small bulge. "Um, we could finish up the living room, I guess. It'll be the hardest, since we have to get rid of all the stuff that was already here, like the couches", she said, patting the cushion next to her.

I groaned and fell back onto the couch. "Why can't we just keep the living room the way it is already?", I asked. "I mean, it looks ok as it is, why go through all the trouble of moving new furniture into a room that's already covered?"

My mom pursed her lips. "I guess we could do that. But what about the furniture from home? We can't just throw it all away."

"We were gonna throw all the stuff that was already here away", I reminded her. "Whats the difference?"